against the left side of your thorax anteriorly, and you will find
it difficult to inhale. If you press your hand against the right
side of your thorax, on the other hand, you will have no difficulty
in inhaling. Next, press your hand against the right side of your
abdomen, and you will not be able to exhale; but if you press your hand
against its left side, you will experience no trouble in exhaling. In
pressing your hands one against the left side of the breast and the
other against the right side of the abdomen, you will have trouble in
breathing.
Pressures produced in the precisely _opposite_ manner in every respect,
on the part of a German-speaking person, will produce effects of
precisely the _same_ nature. A German, in pressing the right side of
his abdomen, will not be able to inspire freely, but pressing its left
side will not hinder him from doing so. Pressing the left side of his
thorax will impede his expiration, while the pressing of its right
side will not prevent him from doing so. These results will become
more obvious when these pressures are continued for some time. All
the pressures mentioned are to be applied _anteriorly_. Pressures of
the same nature applied _posteriorly_ produce opposite results with
Anglo-Saxons as well as Germans.
Similar results may be obtained by producing pressures on the median
line of either thorax or abdomen, front as well as back. Such will also
be the case when pressures are produced on either side from the armpits
downward or from the hips upward. More satisfactory results, however,
than those obtained through mechanical pressure can be obtained by
making the respective parts rigid. It will scarcely be necessary for me
to mention all these various causes and consequent results in detail,
as any one interested in these matters can work them out for himself
from that which I have said.
RISE AND FALL, OR RHYTHM
The thorax is productive of the falling, the abdomen of the rising
voice, the former being the representative of the _impression_ for
sounds, the latter of their expression.
_An Anglo-Saxon's voice, inspiring, as he does, into the thorax, and
expiring from the abdomen, will first fall and then rise. A German's
voice, on the contrary, inspiring, as he does, into the abdomen, and
expiring from the thorax, will first rise and then fall._
This is the fundamental cause of the difference between the idiomatic
expression of these two peoples, and primarily also of the difference
existing between their national traits physically as well as mentally.
Every original word in either of these languages will illustrate these
facts:
´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ `
Vater, Mutter, Bruder, Schwester.
Take the same words in English, and the accent will be reversed:
` ´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´
Father, Mother, Brother, Sister
When these and similar words were adopted into the English language,
it was done at the expense of their original idiomatic expression.
I am speaking of the music, the rise and fall, the rhythm pervading
a language, not of time or measure, nor of the intonation, nor of
emphasis.
I make four distinctions, and expect to prove that they are the basis
of every artistic expression of either speech or song. First, measure
or time. Second, the rise and fall of the voice, equal to its rhythm.
Third, intonation, which pertains to words in accordance with their
meaning. Fourth, emphasis, which has reference to the feelings.
That the human voice is capable of at one and the same time expressing
four moods so different from each other, shows that there are
various factors (all of a different nature) simultaneously at work
producing these different results. To correctly indicate these four
characteristics, it would be necessary to mark each syllable in a
fourfold manner. I shall confine myself to the rhythm and the metre,
and shall mark the former above the line by using the signs for accent
(´`), and the latter below the line by using those for metre (¯˘).
Right here is the main stumbling-block with persons of either
nationality in speaking the language of the other. They will in
so doing invariably retain the idiomatic expression of their own
vernacular.
The _proper_ way to illustrate the rhythm would be as follows:
´`´` ´` ´` ´`
Vater, Mutter, gut.
`´ `´ `´ `´ `´
Father, Mother, good.
There is always a rise of the voice before its fall in German, and a
fall before its rise in English _for each and every syllable_. When
a language is well spoken, this complete intonation is always heard.
If this needs illustration, which it should not, being so obvious,
the poetry of both peoples offers proofs in great abundance. It is a
notable fact that, with German verse, the voice for the end syllable
always sinks, with English it rises; the former is generally short,
the latter long; but even where the word ends with a long syllable in
German the voice falls at the end, and where one ends with a short
syllable in English the voice rises at the end.
To anxiously count every syllable in poetry is contrary to the spirit
of a language. There are slight touches here and there which simply
serve as connecting links, and which, in marking the rhythmic flow of
sounds, should not be included as belonging to the metre. Most of these
are prefixes or affixes, pauses for repose or relaxation, consisting
in scarcely noticeable inspirations or expirations, which are necessary
to strengthen the voice for the actual metre. The various intonations
are generally expressed by the use of the signs for long and short
only. As the latter, properly speaking, only represent time or measure,
the voice is left to express as best it may and without any guidance
whatsoever every other factor composing a language. All I want to do
now is to show by the signs for the accent the difference between the
English and German rhythmic movement:
´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ `
Auf der duftverlornen Grenze
¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘
´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ `
Jener Berge tanzen hold
¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯
´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ `
Abendwolken ihre Taenze
¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘
´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ `
Leicht geschuerzt im Strahlengold.
¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯
LENAU.
´ ` ´` ´` ´ ` ´ ` ´ `
Auf ihrem Grab da steht eine Linde
¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘
´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´` ´ ` ´ `
Drin pfeifen die Voegel im Abendwinde;
¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘
´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´` ´` ´ ` ´` ´ `
Die Winde die wehen so lind und so schaurig,
¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘
´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´` ´ ` ´ ` ´` ´ `
Die Voegel die singen so suess und so traurig.
¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘
HEINE.
The beginning of every line in this verse might remain unmarked as not
belonging to the rhythmic expression proper, and being expressive
mainly of an inspiration preceding the expiration which it foreshadows.
The beauty of Heine's verse is largely due to the fact that he does
not anxiously count time, but lets his voice rise and fall where it is
most effective. It will be noticed that there is a greater movement, as
expressed by the signs of the rhythm, in Heine's verse than there is in
Lenau's, hence the inexpressible charm of his diction. Here is another
great poet, or poetess rather, the greatest Germany has produced, also
fearless of prescribed forms, but full of charm and power:
´ ` ´` ´ ` ´` ´` ´`
O schaurig ists uebers Moor zu gehn,
¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯
´ ` ´` ´ ` ´ `
Wenn es wimmelt vom Haiderauche,
¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘
´` ´` ´` ´` ´ ` ´ `
Sich wie Phantome die Duenste drehn
¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯
´ ` ´ ` ´` ´ `
Und die Ranke haekelt am Strauche.
¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘
DROSTE-HUELSHOFF.
In these last two citations, the dactylus (¯ ˘ ˘) is the prevailing
measure, which but strengthens my assertion that in German diction
there is a fall after a rise; the former being here more distinctly
expressed than in the simple trochaic measure. The fall, the
relaxation, being greater, the rise, the vigor in the expression,
thereby gains additional strength. What is the consequence of this
falling off or gliding down in German diction so well expressed in
Lenau's
´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ `
"Auf der duftverlornen Grenze"?
It is not a positive line of demarcation, but one which is lost, as it
were, "in the soft ether of the evening sky."
Hence the high tide succeeded by the low, the aspiration followed by
resignation, the night after the day, death after life, repose after
the strife--all this expresses the genius of the German language; and
is also expressive of German life and character--its dreaminess, its
longing, its desire for the ideal, never to be attained; the abstract,
the abstruse; its yearning, its altruism, its transcendentalism, its
_Weltschmerz_ (the sadness pervading all nature). It is also expressive
of its _Begeisterung_ (an enthusiasm which upon the slightest
provocation takes a man almost off his feet). All these are traits of
the German national character.
There is no spiritual bond among all these millions that could possibly
produce such sentiments and feelings as its result, differing, as they
do, from the feelings of any other nation or people, but that of a
language common to all.
To prove that the trochaic measure is the one ordained by nature for
German expression, it is but necessary to glance at the characteristic
words of the preceding verses:
´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ `
Wimmelt, Haide, gehen, wehen, drehen, Ranke, haekelt,
´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ `
Grenze, jener, Berge, Abend, Wolken, Taenze,
´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ `
strahlen, ihren, eine, Linde, pfeifen, Voegel, Winde,
´ ` ´ ` ´ `
schaurig, singen, traurig.
The same rhythm, though not so obviously expressed, obtains with the
words of one syllable:
´` ´` ´` ´` ´ ` ´` ´`
Auf, der, Duft, hold, leicht, im, Gold,
´` ´ ` ´` ´ ` ´ ` ´`
Grab, steht, lind, suess, ueber's, Moor.
Now compare with this the strength and vigor of English diction, which
runs in the precisely opposite direction:
` ´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´
The stag at eve had drunk his fill,
˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯
` ´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´
Where danced the moon on Monan's rill;
˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯
`´ `´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´
And deep his midnight lair had made,
˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯
` ´ ` ´ ` ` ´ ` ´
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade.
˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯
SCOTT.
` ´ ` ´ ` ´ `´ `´
The day is done, and the darkness
˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘
`´ ` ´ ` ` ´ ` ` ´
Falls from the wings of night,
˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯
`´ ` ´ ` ` ´ ` ` ´ ` ´
As a feather is wafted downward
˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘
`´ ` `´ ` ´ ` ´
From an eagle in his flight.
˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯
LONGFELLOW.
` ` ´ ` `´ `´ `´ ` `´
Oh east is east, and west is west,
˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯
` ´ ` ` ´ ` ´
And never the two shall meet,
˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯
` ´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´
Till earth and sky stand presently,
˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯
` `´ ` ´ ` ´ ` ´
At God's great judgment seat.
˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯
` ´ ` ´ ` ` ´ ` ´
But there is neither east nor west,
˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯
`´ ` ` ´ ` ´
Border, nor breed, nor birth,
¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯
` ´ `´ `´ ` ´ ` ´
When two strong men stand face to face,
˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯
` ` ´ ` ` ´ ` ` ´
Though they come from the ends of the earth.
˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯
KIPLING.
It is either the iambic (˘¯) or the anapest (˘˘¯). Of course, these
vary to some extent in conformity with the reader's intonation, but the
spirit of the language is always from weakness to strength, in place of
from strength to weakness, as with the German. It is always the waves
approaching the shore and then _breaking_ against it, as against the
wind _coming up suddenly_ and then dying away. This is the reason why
a serenade or lullaby in English can never be rendered with the same
effect as in German, the English voice rising at the end instead of
falling.
Wherever a verse commences with a stress, it must be considered that
a fall of the voice or an inspiration has preceded it; this, though
unaccompanied by sound, being really the case. I have thus marked the
beginning of Longfellow's beautiful lines:
` ´ `´ ` ´
Falls----as----from.
Mr. Lunn, in his _Philosophy of Voice_, has the following:
"How many Englishmen _dare_ utter loudly a word beginning with a
vowel? If attempted, either it would not be done, or, in spite of the
speaker, owing to the weakness of the muscles which draw the cords
together [_sic_], an aspirate would precede the vowel."
This is right, as far as his observation is concerned, but he does
not seem to know that this very weakness he complains of is really
the strength of the English language, the lull before the storm, the
concentration before the explosion; and that "thus the idiosyncrasy
of our people's speech" is _not_ "deadness, weakness, and general
feebleness," but, on the contrary, a strength and a virility not
surpassed by any other tongue. This finds illustration in Kipling's
`´ `´ `´ `´
Oh east is east, etc.
It is but necessary to comprehend the laws which underlie this apparent
weakness to turn it to its best account, and to obtain from it the
highest results, both for speech and song. As for the "weakness of the
muscles which draw the cords together," it will scarcely be necessary
for me to make a specific refutation; the premises upon which such
assumption is founded being quite untenable, there being quite as much
vigor in the _muscles_ and _cords_ of an Anglo-Saxon as in those of any
other nation. Nor, I suppose, will it be necessary to strengthen my
assertions by once more quoting the separate words and thus pointing
out the iambic, the rise after the fall (˘¯), or the anapest (˘˘¯), the
twofold repose and gathering of strength for the final emphasis.
The English language in its Saxon words mainly consists of
monosyllables. These, however, as stated, must be looked upon as words
of two syllables, a suppressed intonation always preceding their vowel
sounds. The majority of such words, as a matter of fact, originally
consisted of two syllables, of which the last was dropped when they
were adopted by the English. This last syllable, representing the fall
of the voice thus disappearing, left the first, which represented
its rise, standing unsupported by itself. As the rise of the voice,
however, cannot be expressed without the accompaniment of its fall, the
latter always _tacitly_ accompanies the same, and is expressed in an
undertone, _preceding_ the rise.
Almost every verb of this class will give evidence of this fact:
´ ` ´ ´ ` ´ ´ ` ´
Gehen--go, sehen--see, hoeren--hear,
´ ` ´ ´ ` ´ ´ ` ´
sprechen--speak, kochen--cook, tanzen--dance,
´ ` ´
fallen--fall, etc.
Hence, in conformity with the above, these words in the English
language should be properly marked thus:
`´ `´ `´ `´ `´ `´
Go, see, hear, speak, cook, dance, etc.
which gives the real intonation thereof.
This applies to all words commencing with a vowel, and explains what
Mr. Lunn has designated as a "weakness of the English language":
`´ `´ `´ `´ `´ `´ `´
Art, arm, or, all, eagle, each, old, etc.
Without this half-suppressed fall of the voice, there would be no
beauty, no charm, no soul in the English language; in fact, it could
not exist. Words of two syllables, however, always have the fall of the
voice on the first, its rise on the second, syllable, even where the
preponderance of _time_ belongs to the first syllable, as in the words
` ´ ` ´
Danced, hazel, etc.
¯ ˘ ¯ ˘
The reader will find these statements sustained by almost every word he
may examine into, which will show that the characteristic expression
of English diction is that of the iambic measure, which passes from
weakness to strength; while that of German diction, as already stated,
is that of the trochaic measure, which passes from strength to weakness.
Having shown that German _sentiment_ is in accord with the idiomatic
expression of the German language, I will now show that _English_
sentiment also conforms to _its_ idiomatic expression. I must beg
the reader, however, not to be over-critical. I am not attempting to
furnish comparative sketches of the national character of these peoples
in a literary sense, but am entering into these matters for the sole
purpose of sustaining the results of my physiological investigations.
Nor should these attempts be applied to individual cases, there being
exceptions to all rules, but to the national character _in general_.
If a person in making investigations of this kind had to constantly
fear that he might be treading on some one's sensitive toes, he could
never make any headway at all. I am, in fact, perfectly willing to
apologize beforehand for any such mishap possibly taking place, as I
wish to be perfectly impartial and without bias. I have said this much
partly for the reason also that in consequence of some remark, on one
occasion, made in my former publication in favor of the English _vs._
the Germans, one critic honored me with the epithet "renegade."
The rising voice succeeding the falling is not a soft and gradual
receding, but, on the contrary, it is more like an explosion, a
trumpet-blast; the inspiration which had been "stored" being suddenly
released. There is no such "storing" in connection with German
diction; inspiration and expiration succeeding each other on the
spot. With English diction this change may be compared to the break
of day after the night; the fray after the repose; resurrection after
death; a conflagration and a rebuilding at once on the spot, not
only individually, but by an entire community (Boston and Chicago);
an outburst after due deliberation; no sentimentality, but a firm
resolve for the right; patient submission to a point, then a strike
for liberty; the slow accumulation of a fortune and the spontaneous
spending thereof; a hot political campaign and a victory or defeat;
in either case acquiescence; no vain mourning after the fact; a
butterfly of wealth, idleness, and fashion, then perhaps ruin; yet not
despair, but a brave conformity to altered circumstances; an energy in
the pursuit of business or of war which does not flag until utterly
exhausted or success is achieved and a victory is won. All this is due
to the reserve force in the character of English-speaking people,
which comes to their rescue when circumstances demand it. A world
positive and direct, full of energy, restlessness, and activity. A
world of, and for, _this_ world; whose world to come, even, must have a
positive and well-defined character and surroundings:
"Where the walls are made of jasper and the streets are paved
with gold."
To what is all this due but to this _bond of language_ uniting these
millions, and embracing every foreign element, in its children at
least? The theme is inexhaustible, but I am limited as to time; yet
additional remarks on the same subject will be forthcoming during the
further pursuance of these studies.
For song, it appears to me, the words, besides being marked by notes,
should also be marked as to rhythm, as this would assist singers in
giving them the proper intonation; notes indicating metre, but not
rhythm.
Metre and rhythm are produced by two distinctly different processes;
metre, or time, being the outcome of a mode of breathing subject to the
will, while rhythm is the outcome of an involuntary mode of breathing
for a characteristic quality inherent in a nation's language as its
idiomatic expression.
Ordinarily, both metre and rhythm are expressed by the same signs (˘¯);
this is very misleading.
To express time, or metre, I use the signs for short and long (˘¯). To
express rhythm, or the fall and rise of the voice, I use the signs for
what is usually called the accent (´`). If we were to _meas__ure_ the
exact time, however, consumed in the utterance of syllables, we would
find that the falling voice, which is the product of inspiration and
belongs to the thorax, requires more time than the rising voice, which
is the product of expiration and belongs to the abdomen.
In marking verse, however, the sign for long (¯) generally accompanies
the short syllable of the rising, and the sign for short (˘) the, as a
matter of fact, long syllable of the falling voice. It takes longer to
fill a bottle than to pour out its contents; to prepare a dish than to
eat it; to walk upstairs than to jump from a window. It takes longer to
_prepare_ for an utterance than to utter it. It takes longer to inspire
than to expire.
In view of the vast foreign element constituting a part of this nation,
it would be a matter of interest to know at what period the foreigner
ceases to exist as such and the "American" begins; or, in other words,
to understand when the evolution takes place which transforms the
foreigner into the American. From my point of view it is, above all,
a question of language. The political aspect of the case is scarcely
to be considered. An unnaturalized Englishman, consequently, after
thoroughly "Americanizing" his language, becomes more of an American
(no matter whether he himself thinks so or not) than an Irishman who,
though naturalized, never ceases to use his native brogue.
These questions, of course, are many-sided. When I speak of
nationality, however, I have the _best_ specimens of a nation as
representatives thereof in view always. A man with a foreign accent
does not have the same standing or influence in municipal, state, and
national councils as one who speaks a pure English; there is always a
_feeling_ against him, no matter how able or patriotic he may be, of
some foreign influence as a substratum in his composition.
STRESS
I have already stated that the thorax is the seat of the falling,
the abdomen that of the rising, voice. This can be tested by a
simple experiment, the result of which will be as startling as it is
phenomenal. _By simply pressing the stomach, or making the same rigid,
you will find that the fact of your doing so will prevent you from
uttering any sound belonging to the rising voice, or the stress laid
upon a word._
Take, for instance, the following:
"Oh, say, can you see by the dawn's early light,"
and you will find that, upon pressing the stomach, or making the same
rigid, you will not be able to utter the words "say," "see," "dawn's,"
and "light." This will become more obvious in uttering these words
slowly than in doing so rapidly. You will have no difficulty, on the
other hand, in uttering the rest of the words, viz.: "Oh," "can you,"
"by the," "early."
Upon releasing the stomach and bringing a pressure to bear upon the
chest, on the other hand, you will have no difficulty in uttering the
first words mentioned, those of the rising, while you will be unable
to utter the last, those of the falling voice. This rule holds good for
all peoples and all languages.
There is this difference, however, as between English and German
speech, that, for the former, the falling voice (identical with that of
the thorax) _precedes_ the rising (identical with that of the abdomen);
while for the latter the reverse is the case;--Anglo-Saxons inspiring
into the chest and then into the stomach; Germans into the stomach and
then into the chest. Germans will have greater difficulty in making
this experiment than Anglo-Saxons, as words of the falling voice, as
a rule and in all languages, precede those of the rising. Germans,
consequently, must _think_ of the word of the rising voice, which, as
a matter of fact, succeeds the words of the falling, before they can
utter the latter. This difficulty is enhanced by the fact that while
the rising voice is generally confined to a single word, the falling
voice generally embraces several.
Hence the frequency of the use of the anapest (˘˘¯) and the dactylus
(¯˘˘), and the relative rarity of the use of the bacchius (˘¯¯) and
the antibacchius (¯¯˘); short always representing the falling voice,
which embraces more than one word, while long represents the rising
voice, which usually embraces but one single word; the definition
requiring more words than the thing to be defined. Hence, _for German
diction, the "thought" of the word of the rising voice must precede the
"utterance" of the words of the falling; while for English diction,
the "thoughts" of the words of the falling voice must precede the
"utterance" of the word of the rising._
A German may try and say the following:
"In einem _Thal_ bei armen _Hirten_,
Erschien mit jedem jungen _Jahr_,"
in such a manner as _not to think_ of the words which are italicized
before uttering those which immediately precede them, and he will find
that he will be unable to pronounce the latter.
An Anglo-Saxon may try and say the following:
"And the star-spangled banner in triumph _doth wave_
O'er the land of the free and the home _of the brave_,"
and he will find that in saying "in triumph doth wave," he must think
of the words "doth wave" before he will be able to utter the word
"triumph." Again, in saying "the home of the brave" he must think of
the words "of the brave" before he will be able to utter the word
"home."
A German, consequently, must _think_ of the principal word before he
can utter those which qualify it; an Anglo-Saxon must think of the
latter before he can utter the former.